Luke 13:1-9
We already know this: Pilate was not the last tyrant to hurt or kill someone and Siloam was not the last tower to fall. We know this because tyrants and towers are the reality of the world in which we live. And they come in all sorts of ways and forms. Sometimes their intentional and of human origin, other times they’re accidental and the way of nature. Regardless, tyrants and towers abound. Putin and the war in Ukraine and Covid-19 with all of its suffering easily qualify under the category of tyrants and towers. But there are others as well, random accidents, systemic broken relationships, diseased bodies, to name a few.
Whenever tyrants act and towers fall we are faced with the reality that life is fragile, unpredictable, and sometimes even tragic. At such times we often try to grasp for control, to make sense of the chaos and look to explanations like, “They got what they deserved, “God has a plan,” or “Everything happens for a reason.”
It seems that Jesus is hearing something along these lines as the people tell him about Pilate and his responsibility in the deaths of the Galileans whose blood was mingled with their sacrifices. “Do you think,” Jesus asks, “that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?” To this kind of thinking - that bad things happen to bad people - and all other simplistic rationales that we hold onto in hopes of making sense of the world, Jesus says, “No, I tell you.”
No, because that is not who God is or how God works. Actions and choices have natural consequences - sometimes they result in tragedy and suffering, other times in good fortune and joy. The hard truth is that good things happen to both good and bad people. And bad things happen to both good and bad people. Tyrants and towers, along with God, show no partiality. Which Jesus makes clear when he declares, “Unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
“Unless you repent.…” Guaranteed, that is not what the people wanted or expected to hear from Jesus after they told him about Pilate’s latest brutal act. And surely Jesus’ follow-up report of another tragic tale about eighteen people killed in a freak accident when the tower of Siloam fell on them didn’t help much either. Then to top it off he says again, in case anyone missed it the first time, “Unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.” Cold comfort, indeed.
Can you imagine coming to me or Fr. David with the news that your daughter is getting divorced or that your father is dying or that your good friend is suicidal and hearing the response, “Well, unless you repent.…” Understandably, you’d be hurt and, hopefully, shocked because that’s not how we do pastoral care around here. And quite rightly you’d probably follow up with a scathing phone call reporting us to the bishop. Because Jesus’ words are not all that helpful. They offer no explanation, no comfort. “Unless you repent,” is not what we want to hear, but sometimes it’s exactly what we need to hear.
To state the obvious, Jesus is not operating as pastor in this reading from the gospel of Luke. He is behaving as a prophet. Because a prophet speaks truth, oftentimes hard truth that we’d rather not hear. Tyrants act and towers fall. Those are facts of life that Jesus is really not interested in arguing about. What he is interested in is challenging us - in the midst of this fragile, unpredictable, and sometimes even tragic life - challenging us to actually live. “Unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”
Which launches him into a parable about a man who plants a fig tree and then three years later is frustrated when the tree has not borne fruit. The gardener, then, comes to the poor tree’s defense, asks for one more year, and promises to give it special care and nurture in the meantime. The story raises the question, where is our life bearing fruit? And where is it not? Where do we need to repent? In the sense that repentance is the changing of one’s mind, a turning of the heart towards God and God’s ways of love and mercy in this world. Where are we nurturing and growing in our repentance and where are we just “wasting the soil” in which we have been planted?
There is an urgency to the story because time will eventually run out. This is not because God is out to get us. But because God knows how short and precious and sacred life on this earth is. Jesus is more concerned with why people do not fully live than explaining why people die. Everyone dies, but not everyone truly lives.
The last lines of the poem, “The Summer Day,” by Mary Oliver captures this point beautifully.
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
This is the heart of Jesus’ call to repentance. And it is our Lenten journey. Turning our hearts and minds towards God, is the way to really live the “one wild and precious life” that we have been given. Repentance is the path to life. The way of becoming more fully who we truly are - beloved children of God who are created to not only be loved but to love. To act in ways that expand the experience of love and mercy in all the world. Repentance, ultimately, is about choosing to live and live fully. So choose. And if you see that you have made a wrong choice, choose again. For it is never too late. “One more year,” implores the gardener to the landlord. One more year. Which is not about the span of twelve months really, but about forgiveness, grace, love, and unlimited second chances. So tell me, how might you live more fully into repentance? What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
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